Falling Apart In Your Arms Again
by brokehisactionman
Summary: AU: John returns from war to find himself jobless and his life lacking that special something. Making the decision to create a profession around selling his body, he meets a man called Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock uses John's services for non-sexual purposes, could anything come of their 'working' relationship? And what happens when an old friend turns up? Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello people, this idea for a story had been floating around in my head for a while. I wanted to get it written down. I haven't seen a story like this before, so I hope it's unique. I hope you enjoy reading this. **

* * *

Returning back from the war broken and damaged, John couldn't find the excitement in everyday life like he could on the battlefield. The other problem with civilian life was employment. Nobody would want to employ a man who deeply affect by the fighting with a psychosomatic limp. John needed to make a living anyway possible.

Walking past the local red telephone box, John noticed a small advertisement in the window. The bright colours of the ad caught John's eye immediately but the picture accompanying the ad shocked him. It was a ad showing details for a _lady of the night_. There was a male version next to it. John then knew how to make some quick money. Pacing home with his cane banging on the payment, John mentally layout what his ad was going to look like. John eased his way into his cramped flat, instantly reaching for his laptop opening the publisher document to prepare his ad.

After an hour John was satisfied with his creation, he added contact his details. He was ready to print it off and place then round the telephone boxes in the area. He just hoped that none of his neighbours would find the ad and call him. That would be an awkward situation that he hoped to avoid.

The final ad was placed in a telephone box a couple of miles away from his flat. Worry hit his stomach as John wondered what the worst thing that could happen being a male prostitute. John was going to make his living on his own terms, no negotiation.

* * *

John had been working for a couple of months now, it was easier than he expected. All _jobs_ were carefully organised with military precision for each man or women coming back to his flat for sex. John always researched his clients before agreeing to see them; just to make sure they were weren't going to turn on him half way through the job. The doctor side of John always made sure that he and his clients were clean and safe.

It was cool summer's morning when John's _'work'_ mobile beeped, none of his clients ever text. He opened the message feature to read the text.

'Hello J. Watson, I require your services- SH'

John stared at the text for a moment longer. This was strange he had never conducted business like this, this was almost like giving up the control he had over his job all because his client had contacted him over text not a phone call. However this was the excitement that John had been looking for. John decided to text back.

'How may I help you? - JW'

'It may be an unusual request but I don't want sex. I want someone to talk too. I will still pay your normal rates- SH'

Who in their right mind would contact a prostitute just to talk? This concept confused John. Re-reading the text John felt a hint of sadness that this person felt that they had to pay someone to talk to; they must be a lonely person. John's fingers shifted over the keypad as he replied.

'Yes that's fine SH, where would you like to meet? - JW'

'Please call me Sherlock, there's a restaurant called Angelo's' on Northumberland Street, be there for 7pm sharp-SH'

John noted down Sherlock's name and address of the restaurant in his diary. Tonight John would meet this man for the first time, he didn't know whether that excited or scared him. He had done no research and had absolutely no idea who he was meeting. He could only hope that it would go smoothly, at least he wouldn't have to drop his pants tonight.

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**Hope you liked the first chapter, if there are any grammar/spelling errors I am sorry. Any feedback, comments or reviews are welcome. **

**Thank you for reading. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all your kind reviews and comments, I hope this chapter is okay for you guys :D **

* * *

The day seemed to drag for John, as each second ticked by the buzz of the upcoming meeting was getting to him. Every couple of hours John's thoughts kept returning to the strange man. Every few hours his mind wandered, staring into to space. His mind imagining different men answering to the name of Sherlock.

John became more and more jittery as the dinner date approached. Stepping into the shower, John washed his body paying attention to his sexual organs, even though he knew Sherlock didn't want sex. John reached and turned the shower off. Grabbing his towel he exited the cubicle. John sat on the edge of his bed, towel wrapped firmly around his body. John brushed and dried his hair, styling the ends in order to make himself look good for his mystery man. John pulled his best shirt from the cupboard along with some slimming black jeans pulling the clothes on himself with minimal effort. His eyes were drawn to his bedside draw; where he kept his army issued Sig Sauer P226R gun. He so desperately wanted to take his gun with him, but on a _'date'_ really? The gun would definitely make him feel more comfortable.

John weighed up the pros and cons of bringing his gun. He felt that the cons were less than the pros. He pulled his gun from the drawer and placed it in the back band of his trousers, hoping dearly that he wouldn't need to use it tonight.

He scanned the room to make sure he had ever thing he required. Phone, wallet and keys were in his pocket and the taxi to the location had also ready been pre-booked during the day. John was raring to go and meet his client. The loud beep from the taxi's horn alerted John that the time had come. Deciding to leave his cane by the door, he walked out slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Sherlock was sat at the table next to the window, giving himself the perfect view of any taxis coming past. He had arrived at the restaurant 15 minutes early to get the best table. The glass of red wine that Angelo had placed in front of him had remained untouched. As the clock approached 7pm Sherlock began to feel apprehensive that J. Watson was not going to show, such a strange feeling for Sherlock who normally locked his emotions away. Sherlock had only ever contacted a male prostitute in order to talk to once before, it hadn't gone well. Sherlock had pretty much given up on the idea of having a friend until he saw J. Watson's ad in a telephone box one evening. As Sherlock played with the cutlery a taxi swiftly approached the side of the restaurant, the car halted and the door opened. Sherlock observed as a short man exited the vehicle. The blonde hair man glanced up at the name of the restaurant, checking that this was the right place and proceeded to the door.

As John entered the restaurant, he was greeted by one of the staff; a middle age man with graying hair.

"Hey has a Mister Sherlock arrived yet?" asked John.

The member of staff nodded, gesturing John to follow him over to the table by the window. Just as they reached the table the man spoke;

"I'll get you a candle for the table, more romantic"

Neither Sherlock or John protested.

Sherlock immediately stood up straight to welcome John. He held out a hand towards the blonde man, John shook his hand with a firm grip. John raked his eyes over Sherlock's slim body. John was impressed by the amount of effort Sherlock had clearly put into his appearance; clean crisp black suit trousers with an accompanying purple shirt, top two buttons undone. John wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Good evening, Mr. Watson"

"Hello there, I'm John Watson. You must be Sherlock" replied John.

"Naturally" answered Sherlock, quickly mentally berating himself for sounding so rude to John.

John gently smiled at Sherlock's abruptness. This did much to calm Sherlock's nerves. As both men sat down menus were placed in front of them by Angelo with a single white aflame candle. They ordered their meals, conversation was slow to start; small was needed to introduce themselves.

"So you wanted to _talk_?" asked John as they waited for their meals. Sherlock was going to explain his thought process for contacting John but decided to deduce him instead.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock inquired, holding his wine glass to his bow shaped lips to take a sip.

"I'm sorry, what?" asked John staring blankly at Sherlock.

"Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists - you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but it seems like you have forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That suggests the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic - wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq" explained Sherlock watching John's face careful to see if he had offended the other man.

John paused for a moment before answering.

"Wow, that's quite a neat trick you have there" commented John.

"It's called deduction, it's not a trick" Sherlock slightly hissed back at John.

"Well what ever it is called, it's quite brilliant" grinned John as Angelo placed their meals in front of them.

John began to dig into his meal with his cutlery, the food smelled very divine. After the first couple of bites, he noticed Sherlock wasn't eating more sort of pushing the pieces of food around his plate. The two men locked eyes with each other.

"Eat your food, Sherlock" gently commanded John. Sherlock did as he was told. Sherlock never did as he was told. John and his personalty was having a weird effect on Sherlock.

John was eager to learn more about the man sat in front of him.

"Tell me about yourself" asked John. Sherlock cleared his throat before answering.

"I live alone in a flat. I have a landlady called who acts more like my mother. I also have an annoying brother called Mycroft, he is very into to cake and umbrellas. I work as a consulting detective, working free lance cases" stated Sherlock.

John didn't really know how to reply to that, it just made Sherlock a more intriguing person, mysterious in his ways.

"What about you?" urged Sherlock, in an attempt to keep the conversation flowing.

"Well I think you explained my life story for me" joked John. Sherlock smiled, he had never meet anyone who was so willing to accept his deductions without becoming annoyed at him. He could see himself quite liking John.

The night flowed well, both men were getting on like a house on fire. As the evening came to an end, John pulled out his wallet to pay for his half of the meal. Angelo stepped towards them letting them know that their meal and drinks were on the house. Bidding goodbye to Angelo, both men stepped out of the restaurant. Sherlock pressed a roll of notes into John's hand. John glanced down to see what Sherlock had put into his hand.

"Your rate for your services, plus a tip. Thank you for a great evening John" softly spoke Sherlock. John was just about to hand the cash back; he couldn't accept the money it would be like taking advantage of a lonely man. Before John could do this, Sherlock had already hailed a cab and was gone. Limp faded, John decided to walk home. It wasn't too far. As John strode home, he passed a homeless man and handed him some of the cash he had received from Sherlock; it seemed only fair.

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**If there are any mistakes sorry! I look forward for your thoughts and comments :D **


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow, I've had such a great response for this story. Thank you for all your kind words and reviews. I hope the characters are not too OOC. I also hope that this chapter flows just as well, I've re-written this one a couple of times in order to get the correct mannerisms and tone for Sherlock and John. Have fun reading! :) Any comments are much welcome. **

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Pushing through his front door, John heard a beeping noise. Pulling his phone from his pocket, John viewed the new message;

'_I had a great evening tonight John, I would very much like to do it again sometime-SH_'

John unconsciously smiled at the text message, this man was having an effect on John. He had lost all control over his client, but John was just fine with that. John wondered for a moment if Sherlock was the answer to the that spark that his life was missing. John replied quickly to the message.

'Yes absolutely,whenever you like-JW'

John agonised whether or not his text seemed to keen, eager in tone. He was acting like a 15 year old boy again, worrying if the other person had interpreted the message wrong. John tried to focus on everything else but his phone, he pulled out the remaining contents of his pockets, placing his gun firmly away back into the drawer. An answer still hadn't come from Sherlock's number, John huffed with slight sadness. John ready himself for bed. As he crawled under the sheets his thoughts soon drifted back to Sherlock as he fell asleep. That night he dreamed of the tall dark haired man. This Sherlock man was enigma, a strange fascinating undiscovered treasure, that John Watson wanted to explore more of. John slept well that night.

* * *

Arriving home Sherlock paced into his flat, cataloguing the night's events in his mind palace. Every mannerism, word spoken and action of John was being mentally carved into the walls of a room that Sherlock had sectioned off in the palace for John. The way John had reacted to his deductions had been absolutely divine, no one else ever acted like that. Sherlock felt so accepted around John, like his intellect was a shinning feature of what made him great. Sherlock also observed the gun that John had carried tonight, a shiver travelled down Sherlock's spine as he thought about John handling a gun. That wasn't right, Sherlock shouldn't be getting _turned on_ by this. He didn't do emotions, so why did he let his thoughts turn to thinking John was _sexy_. Sherlock mentally shock himself from going down that path that would lead to an unwanted erection that Sherlock just did not have the energy to will away.

Walking into the kitchen, Sherlock set himself down at the table to begin another experiment and face another night of loneliness. As Sherlock twisted the dial on his microscope a small thought came to him; surely texting John would be a socially acceptable thing to do?

Sherlock tugged his phone and began to formulate a message to John. After a couple of drafts he finally had created what he deemed to be a acceptable text to send. He hit send and waited.

'_I had a great evening tonight John, I would very much like to do it again sometime-SH_'

John's reply came soon after;

_'Yes absolutely,whenever you like-JW_'

An odd feeling bubbled up from inside of Sherlock, he had no idea what this new emotion was, he had never experienced this sensation before. Sherlock put it down to being made to eat by John, he was probably digestion. Sherlock returned to his experiment, letting John get on with his night in peace.

* * *

A whole day had passed, John still hadn't heard anything from Sherlock. John almost felt worried. It wasn't like he had a right to feel this way, Sherlock was just a client after all, no different from any other customer. John went about his business, leaving the flat to purchase shopping for himself. The hustle and bustle of everyday life surrounded John as he made his way to the store. '_Too many damn tourists'_ thought John as he pushed past a large group of camera welding people. As John neared the store, the sound of sirens floated in the air around him. Police tape surrounded the entrance to the shop, police men were shouting to keep the press back. John was just about to turn to find another local shop when he distinctly heard Sherlock's voice.

"Lestrade you are an idiot, can you not see that this man was a keen gardener going by the state of his fingernails?" hissed Sherlock.

John pushed his way back to the tape to see if Sherlock was in fact there or not. His eyes clasped on Sherlock who was bent over a body observing the nails on the hand of the dead man. John couldn't help but call out to Sherlock.

"Sherlock what's happening?" asked John, eyes fixed on the body. Sherlock's head snapped up to view John, the detective hadn't even noticed John standing there. Sherlock rose up back straight as he stepped over to John. The two men locked eyes once again.

"John what are you doing here?" inquired Sherlock.

"Went shopping, obviously or at least tried to go shopping" smiled John gesturing to the scene behind Sherlock. Sherlock proceeded to launch into a monotone speech about the crime scene.

"Middle-aged man, avid gardener, owns one very affectionate cat, recently divorced and stabbed by person unknown" stated Sherlock, just waiting for John to call him a freak but he didn't. John licked his lips before replying.

"Brilliant Sherlock, it's a good thing that the police have you to turn too" complimented John.

That fluttering feeling was back in Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock gently grinned and excused himself to continue his case. John said his goodbyes to the detective, turned and went further down the street to continue his shopping.

* * *

As John checked his emails he felt a slight vibration against his leg, realising there was a possibility it was Sherlock texting him; John rushed to get his phone out of his pocket. Unlocking the screen he saw what he had been hoping for all day; the much anticipated message from Sherlock.

_'I need to see you-SH'_

John replied as soon as he had finished reading the message.

_'Of course, come around. Flat 5, Pye street-JW' _

Within moments of sending the text, there was a knock at the door. Surely that couldn't be Sherlock?

John jumped up from his seat, practically ran to the door and yanked it open with little more force than was needed. There was Sherlock stood, silently observing John.

"Okay that's kind of creepy" commented John. Sherlock stopped himself from grinning like an idiot but merely replied;

"I followed you home earlier"

Of course he had. John shouldn't really be surprise this man was slightly out the ordinary. John chuckled as he imagined Sherlock sneaking around trying to follow him home. Sherlock expected John to be pissed off, but seeing John smile and laugh threw him off guard a little. John stepped aside to let Sherlock into his flat. Sherlock glanced round the flat, deducing smaller pieces of John's life from his possessions.

_Alcoholic sibling judging by the scratches on the mobile phone. No family photos, doesn't get on with them or not close enough to them._

Sherlock followed John towards the sofa in the flat. Both men sat down, silence filled the room.

"So any particular reason you wanted to see me?" asked John, eyes observing the fibres of the carpet. Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then answered.

"I am constantly surrounded by idiots, John. I have no one of higher intellect to talk too. This case had been a stressful one, the killer almost alluded me. Talking to my skull on the mantle gets a bit boring after a while" complained Sherlock while John listened intently.

John felt sorry for the other man, he seemed to have a much harder social life than most people. His intellect made Sherlock feel isolated from most of society. This man just needed a friend and John could be that for him.

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**Chapter 3 finished for you guys! I just really hopes this lives up to your expectations. If there are any mistakes, sorry! :) **


	4. Chapter 4

As the room descended back in to silence. John could not think of a response to Sherlock. He just wanted to lean over a hug the other man but refrained from doing so. However he could help but ask Sherlock about his life;

"Why do people hate you?" mumbled John, carefully watching Sherlock's reaction. Sherlock had a answer ready for John at once.

"People don't like being told how pathetic their lives are. People also get defensive when you reveal something about them, they lash out verbally and physically. The worst part is when people attack something they don't understand; that's where my school nickname came from" replied Sherlock.

"Nickname?" queried John.

"Freak" Sherlock simply replied.

John reached out to grasp Sherlock's hand to offer him comfort, Sherlock didn't reject the physical contact like John though he would. John gently rubbed circles into the palm of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock observed this contact, it made him feel warm inside.

"Well I don't think you are a freak. Quite the opposite, you are a extraordinary man. I've never met anyone like you before" remarked John. Sherlock snapped his head straight up to view John, in order to deduce whether he was lying or not. The two men watched each other intently.

John excused himself to use the bathroom, taking longer than necessary to tidy himself up. On his return he found that Sherlock fallen asleep, taking up the whole space of the sofa. John watched him for a moment, the detective really looked shattered; the case must of completely worn him out.

"Poor guy" whispered John, carefully trying to not wake the man up. Rather than waking him up John fetched a blanket from the cupboard and gently placed the soft material over Sherlock's body. Sherlock stirred in his sleep but didn't wake up, merely turning over to sleep on his side.

Light snoring could be heard from Sherlock, this made John chuckle at how sweet and innocent this man looked right now. With a yawn John dragged himself to his own bed reluctantly, he would rather watch Sherlock sleeping. John manoeuvred himself under his covers and let sleep claim him.

* * *

_BeepBeepBeepBeep_

The set alarm pulled John from his dreams, waking him up for another day. As John moved to turn his clock off he realised that he still had a guest in his flat. Whipping off the covers John bounded up from his bed, pulled some clothes on and went in search of the detective.

As he entered the living room he noticed that the blanket had been folded up neatly and Sherlock was no where in sight. However there was a note left on the table. John grabbed it in an instant. The simple sentence had been elegantly written, the handwriting neat and delicate.

_Thank you for letting me stay John, much appreciated- Sherlock_

A hint of sadness hit John, he had no idea when he would see Sherlock again. John placed the note back onto the table and went about his daily routine, he had another client today that he needed to prepare for. Filling up his kettle for morning tea, John opened the cupboard to grab his favourite mug. He noticed that there was another note on his mug along with rolled up bank notes inside the mug. The note was from Sherlock as well.

_This is payment for last night, have a good day John- Sherlock_

John rolled the notes through his fingers feeling the paper. Could he really take his money? This whole situation just felt wrong; this man was withdrawn and lonesome, John didn't want to take advantage. Pacing the money in another cup, John continued making his morning tea and get ready for the day.

* * *

John had finished with his client for the day, he was glad to be rid of his customer. This life was not meant to be a permanent one for John, it was only meant to be short term in order to gather quick cash to live.

Since meeting Sherlock his view of his profession had changed. Many people would view prostitution as a dirty, disgraceful job; it was entirely that, but for John it was also about the rush and excitement of doing some thing wrong; not about the sex. His acquaintance with Sherlock challenged his previous view; maybe his profession was the wrong type of excitement?

* * *

**Just a short quick update for you guys. If there are any mistakes, I am sorry. I'm rubbish at proof reading! **

**Just hope you guys are enjoying this story, I've read all your comments and taken advice on board. Thank you all! :)**

**Have a good day! :) **


	5. Chapter 5

He realised he wasn't at home when he woke up blinking in confusion. He was covered by some sort of thin material that was meant to keep him warm during the night. 'John' instantly thought Sherlock,, there was that odd feeling again. Why would John place a blanket on him? It wasn't like John had a duty to care for him..

Sherlock quickly came to the realisation that John did actually care, weirdly enough. Sherlock once again berated himself for allowing his emotions to rise up form with in him and come to the surface. Sherlock hauled himself up from the sofa, straightened up his clothing and folded the blanket neatly leaving it on the sofa. Glancing around he found a spare pen and some paper in order to leave John a note. After mentally drafting a message in his head, on the 5th re-wording of his sentence he placed the pen to the paper and excellently scribbled his message, leaving it in plain sight for John to find.

_Thank you for letting me stay John, much appreciated- Sherlock_

Sherlock then pulled out his wallet, tugging a few bank notes out he arranged them in one of the mugs in John's cupboard knowing that John would find it as he made his morning tea. Sherlock felt guilty handing payment for John services over in person, leaving it in his flat was much easier as he knew John wouldn't be able to make it awkward; anyway John needed the money much more than he did. Sherlock strolled another note to go with the note by the money.

_This is payment for last night, have a good day John- Sherlock_

Just before Sherlock left John flat to home, he had an overwhelming desire to physically see John before he left. Sherlock stepped towards John bedroom, peeping though the small gap in the door to check that the other man was still asleep. Waiting for a few more rises and falls of John chest to confirm he was asleep, Sherlock inched himself into the bedroom. He waited a moment just so that John would not wake, then tip toed towards him. Sherlock observed John. He observed the way John's mouth was slightly parted as he slept, he observed how John had kicked the covers off of him self during the night. He also observed how John clutched onto the pillow as he slept. This man was truly extraordinary in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock carefully leant forward, breathing slowly and placed the lightest of kisses on top of John head. Sherlock quickly backed away after that, he left the bedroom and proceeded to the front door.

* * *

Sherlock had been in his 'thinking' position on his sofa for the past couple of hours, becoming lost in his mind palace; rearranging John's room over and over again, never getting it quite perfect because John kept surprising Sherlock. John couldn't just be placed in a neat organised box and left there, different parts of John's life and personality over flowed into the rest of the room.

An incoming text pulled Sherlock from his mind palace;

_'Met's Christmas party, you coming?-Lestrade'_

Before Sherlock could decline the offer another text came in.

_'You can bring a plus one-Lestrade'_

_John. _

Sherlock quickly fired off a acceptance text to Lestrade and set about drafting another invite text to John. An hour had passed and Sherlock had still not decided how to word his text to John. It shouldn't be this hard to ask someone to accompany you to a party. Stupid emotions. Throwing himself down on the sofa, Sherlock gave up and just sent a generic text to John inviting him out.

_'How would you feel about attending a Christmas party with me?-Sherlock' _

He sat staring at his phone willing for John to text him back immediately. It was a while before John got around to replying.

'_Of course, it's a date- John'_

Oh damn; there was that fluttering feeling in Sherlock's abdomen.

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**Just a quick update for you guys. Once again if there are any mistake, I'm sorry! Thank you for all your wonderful comments and reviews. **

**Sorry it's only a small chapter, I hope to have a bigger update for you lot over the next couple of days. **

**Any reviews, advice and comments are very much welcome. :D **


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock agonised over his clothing for the Christmas party. As endless amounts of shirts were thrown out of the cupboard; all varying in colour, texture and the amount of buttons. Sherlock couldn't find the right shirt for the night ahead. In Sherlock's mind this was John's fault because of the way he had replied to Sherlock's text.

_It's a date._

What the hell does that mean? It could be interpreted in a number of different ways. John could of meant it as a figure of speech or quite literally as a date. This confused Sherlock to no end, he had no concept of social constructs. Sherlock settled for his favourite purple shirt where the buttons barely held together, staining for dear life. He accompanied this shirt with straight black suit trousers and perfectly shined shoes. His look was slightly to formal for a Christmas party but it was John he was trying to impress tonight. Sherlock needed everything to be perfect so that John's opinion of him didn't waver. He was beginning to act more hormonal than a teenage girl.

* * *

Sherlock had already invited John over to his house so that they could arrive together. This was the first time John had been to Sherlock's flat. Sherlock didn't bother to tidy the place up instead he shouted for Mrs. Hudson to clean while leaving his experiment alone. After Mrs. Hudson had gone back to her flat to take her evening soother, Sherlock waited for John; constantly checking the time on his phone. As time dragged on Sherlock couldn't stop his nerves from building up. It was a relief when the doorbell rang. Drawing a deep breath Sherlock ran down the stairs to greet John. He was met by John grinning at him. Sherlock raked his eyes over John. He was wearing tight black jeans that fitted well, especially around his arse, as well as a light beige jumper that hugged John's chest well. Although the jumper was hideous in Sherlock's opinion it looked brilliant on John.

"Looking at you, I fell very undressed" commented John.

Sherlock turned slightly to hide his blush. Sherlock stepped aside for John to enter the flat.

"Thank you, John. I must say you do look tremendous, come on in" replied Sherlock.

John followed Sherlock into Baker street and up the stairs. The sight of the flat amazed John, he didn't expect Sherlock to live somewhere that had so much personality in each feature. John expected a modern flat with sparkly surfaces not dusty books piled up on every available surface or a knife holding letters on the fireplace. He also didn't expect the two single chairs in the middle of the flat that were different in colour and style but just seemed to fit there like they belonged.

"This place had such character, I like it here" announced John.

"There is a spare bedroom upstairs" automatically answered Sherlock.

John's eyes widened in slight shock. Sherlock hadn't even known John for a month, also not mentioning the fact that John was also basically a prostitute. Before John could answer him Sherlock tried to rectify the situation.

"Forget I said that"

John nodded in agreement, letting his eyes fall to the floor. The beep of the taxi outside interrupted the awkward moment.

Grabbing his long coat, Sherlock stood aside to let John leave first. As Sherlock made his way out of the flat he noticed that John was holding the taxi door open for him. Sherlock gently smiled at John as he entered the cab. John slammed the door behind himself as he climbed in to the seat.

They sat in comfortable silence as the cab drove to the venue. Every couple of times Sherlock allowed himself a quick glance at John to deduce his mood and what he had been doing before he came out.

Unknown to Sherlock every time he looked at John, John noticed it.

* * *

As the taxi rolled up to the Christmas party John hopped out to act like a gentleman. He held the car door open, held out a hand for Sherlock to take as he got out the car. Sherlock firmly took his hand as he exited the vehicle. John paid for the taxi while Sherlock straightened himself up. They walked towards the party they met Greg outside who was smoking his third cigarette of the night.

"Hey Sherlock you made it and you brought a friend" smiled Greg.

"Good evening Lestrade. This is John, John this is Lestrade" replied Sherlock introducing the two men. John politely smiled back at Greg.

"Call me Greg. So where did you two meet? I never heard Sherlock mention you" asked Greg.

John looked straight to Sherlock. What the hell were they meant to say? _Sherlock found my ad offering my body for sex and contacted me, but not for that reason. _It was obviously an awkward subject as the seconds trickled by. Quickly Sherlock saved them by answering with a lie.

"We met on a night out and exchanged numbers"

"You on a night out?" asked Greg staring wide eyed at Sherlock like he had just dribbled on himself.

"It was for a case. Obviously" stated Sherlock while John remained silent. They excused themselves from Greg's company to enter the building.

John made a detour straight to the bar needing some alcohol in his system.

"What can I get you?" asked John leaning into Sherlock so that he could hear him over the loud music.

"A rum and coke will be adequate, thank you" Sherlock replied.

John gave the bartender their orders as he handed over money. Sherlock grabbed them a spare table as he waited for John. John carefully carried over their drinks to the table and sat close to Sherlock.

As they drank, joked and made conversation with each other; they were interrupted by a drunk Anderson and Sally. This was going to be interesting.

"What is a hot young man like you, doing with this freak?" questioned Sally, she didn't give either men a chance to reply before continuing.

"Did this psycho follow you home?" sneered Sally as Anderson chuckled.

John stood up straight commanding a strong presence.

"Excuse me I don't know you are but I suggest you fuck off right now" shouted John which made Sally and Anderson instantly back away, moving away from John.

This earned a smile out of Sherlock, he instinctively raised his hand to John's clenched fist rubbing it with the tips of his fingers. John looked down at his fist watching Sherlock attempt to ease him. John sat back down, but this time moved closer to the other man. John took hold of Sherlock's hand from under the table and entwined their fingers together. Sherlock then leaned in closer to whisper into John's ear.

"That, ah— thing that you did. That you, um, you offered to do. That was, um... good"

John simply turned to press a kiss onto Sherlock's temple as a reply.

* * *

As they left the party Sherlock hailed a taxi. Sherlock gave directions to the driver to drop John off first. As the taxi halted outside of John flat, Sherlock once again pushed a wad of notes into John hand. John mentally winced as he saw that Sherlock was once again paying for his presence. Before he could protest Sherlock silenced him with a light kiss.

"Please John just take it. For me" pleaded Sherlock. John nodded and slammed the door behind him. John watched as the taxi speed down the street leaving him alone.

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**Hope you guys like this chapter! If there are any mistakes I have missed, I'm sorry! Thank you for all your wonderful comments, I love reading what you guys have to say. **

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	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock had been so involved in Scotland Yard's current murder case he had temporarily forgotten about contacting John again. Not that John minded, he knew about Sherlock's profession. John also had his own clients to see too. Every time John saw a client he also felt that he was cheating on Sherlock. He knew he had no right to feel like this; they were not together. It had also gotten to the point where John could only start and finish with each client if he thought about Sherlock during the process. This was almost nearing obsession; If John wasn't see him, he was texting him, if he wasn't texting him, he was thinking about him. Little did John know, this was the same for Sherlock.

With the murderer apprehended Sherlock invited John around by text for a catch up.

_'Baker Street, 7pm. If convenient. If inconvenient come anyway- SH'_

Time set, flat dusted (by Mrs. Hudson), take-away menus ready and cutlery cleaned ready for John to come around. Pacing the flat Sherlock eagerly waited for John's arrival. The ring of the doorbell almost made Sherlock jump, he bolted down the stairs to the front door to greet John. Stood on the other side of the door was John carrying a box of beer for the both of them. John smiled at Sherlock as he stepped into Baker Street. John stepped up the stairs before Sherlock, walking into the living room to place the box down on the floor. John stretched his arms out and sat in the chair closest to the entrance to the kitchen.

As the night went on they ate take away and drank beer while Sherlock complained at the boring television shows that John was forcing them to watch. As John lent over Sherlock to grab his drink he accidently drop a small splash onto Sherlock's shirt sleeve. Quickly apologising Sherlock dismissed it as he pushed up his sleeve so that the liquid wouldn't soak though on to his skin. That's when John saw it; small scar track marks. John gasped slightly and recoiled. Sherlock followed John's eyesight till he realised what John had seen. Sherlock tugged his sleeve down and turned away from John in humiliation.

"Sherlock" whispered John trying to get the other man to look at him.

"It's nothing John. It's all in the past, please just leave it" replied Sherlock.

John lightly grabbed his left arm, pushing the sleeve back up to reveal the scars. Sherlock weakly tried to struggle against John's strength. John pulled Sherlock's arm closer to him; but not out of violence. John leant forward to observe the scars. Sherlock watched him intensely confused by John's actions. Most people would ran by now, wanting nothing to do with an ex-addict. But John wasn't most people. John's next action took Sherlock by complete surprise. John raised Sherlock's arm higher, to kiss every single track mark. Sherlock's breath hitched at this, his eyes watered. After John finished kissing his scars he took Sherlock's face in his hands.

"Don't you ever do anything like that, ever again. Promise me?" muttered John staring into Sherlock's eyes.

"I promise" Sherlock whispered back. John kissed him on the forehead to show comfort and affection for the lanky detective.

* * *

John sat with Sherlock as he recalled his drug days and what made him inject that 7% cocaine into himself. Sherlock let a few tears roll down his face as he told John things that he just couldn't tell anyone else. John felt honoured that Sherlock deemed him special enough to speak these repressed memories. John kissed every tear that escaped from Sherlock's eyes. As he came to the end of his drug life story, he looked up at John. They were pressed close to each other on the sofa. John took this moment to inch forward to capture Sherlock's lips in a kiss. This was their second kiss (not that John was counting, or anything). Sherlock let John deepen the kiss as he held onto John's arms. Just as John was about to get carried away with the kiss his personal phone rang. John groaned as he pushed back from Sherlock's body. With a muttered '_hold on a min_', he answered his phone.

"Hello is this John Watson?" the voice asked.

"Yes, how can I help?" replied John annoyed that he had been interrupted.

"This is St. Bartholomew's hospital. Your sister Harriet Watson has been emitted with alcohol poisoning. She is asking for you" answered the voice.

"I'll be there as soon as possible" muttered John, hanging up.

He turned to look at Sherlock who was patiently waiting for John.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I have to go" groaned John.

Sherlock nodded sympathetically stood up from the sofa and retrieved his wallet from his coat. He pulled out a few bank notes and handled them over to John. John stared at the currency in a confused manner. Before he could question it, Sherlock made a comment.

"Your payment for tonight"

"I'm not taking your money Sherlock" answered John thrusting the notes back at Sherlock. He didn't take them back.

"Why would you kiss me if I wasn't paying for your services?" questioned Sherlock. The penny dropped; Sherlock thought the only reason John was hanging around him was for the money.

"Maybe I kissed you because I actually like you, not for the money?" replied John slightly raising his voice in annoyance at Sherlock's ignorance.

"It has to be the money, why else would you be friends with me? I don't have friends" Sherlock shouted back, he was more confused about John's actions for saying he liked Sherlock than angry that he hadn't taken the money.

"I wonder why" bawled John throwing the notes back at Sherlock. He grabbed his coat and rushed out the door. He had more important things to worry about than Sherlock right now, like his probably dying sister.

Sherlock felt sick to his stomach, he just realised he had probably just thrown away the only person that ever accepted him.

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	8. Chapter 8

The doctors informed John that Harriet was going to be fine as long as she got her self off the drink, which both John and Harry knew was never going to happen. With the promise of AA meetings and lifestyle changes John left Harry. Even though he should of been focusing on her, his thoughts keep swirling around Sherlock. He hadn't meant what he had said, it was all heat of the moment. He wasn't angry at Sherlock it was all just bad timing. But there was a part of John that felt he should stay away just to let things cool off. It seemed the acceptable thing to do as both men certainly needed to re-evaluate what they meant to each other. Sherlock still had his cases to think about and John had his profession to consider. John was tempted to throw in the towel in relation to his 'job'. All though he still desperately needed the money he didn't want to feel an overwhelming sense of disgustingness every time he was with a client. Every touch, sound and smell of his work left him feeling sick and odious. It was only a matter time before John would have to give up his profession and look somewhere else to make a living. As for Sherlock although his cases were important in keeping his brain active he would certainly give it all up for John.

There had been no contact between the men for weeks now. Every day Sherlock refrained from texting John. Sherlock just needed to see him one more time even if it meant that John didn't want to see him any more after it. Cases began to dry up as London's criminal classes stop committing offences but also as the police force were actually using common sense; much to Sherlock's dismay. During these weeks Sherlock often sat just staring at the walls of Baker Street, he ignored Mrs. Hudson's attempts to clean around him and the flat and also ignored her attempts to give him food. What's the point of eating when it wasn't John trying to make him eat? Sherlock was acting as if had gone though a dramatic relationship break up, but in one way he had. He had lost the one thing that had been keeping him sane. After another day of observing the patterns in the wallpaper, Mrs. Hudson was at the end of her tether. She crept downstairs to her flat, picked up her house phone and dialed the number of Mycroft's personal mobile. Sherlock was going to resent her for that. She whispered down the line informing Mycroft that Sherlock was not psychologically well. She also made clear to Mycroft that she couldn't find any drugs in his flat but did mention what she believed the cause of Sherlock's behavior was; a man called John Watson.

Oblivious to both Sherlock and John, the wrath of Mycroft meant that the secret service of the British Empire (mostly Mycroft's minions) were now researching and looking for John for upsetting Sherlock. Mycroft's people worked day and night to track down every available piece of information about John. Every dental record, school report and even coffee order was found and sent straight to Mycroft. A file had been formed on John Watson the only piece missing was what John did for a living. After he was honorably discharged from army, there was no new information. This was strange. Everybody had to do something in order to survive; be it a job, crime or benefits. So what the hell was John doing? Mycroft observed CCTV images for John's flat. He observed many people going in and out of John's flat; Mycroft's first thought was drugs but that seemed to mundane for a Doctor that did his best to save lives. He almost missed the true nature of what was going on. He zoomed in the to image, although John's flat had a form of net curtains over the windows it didn't totally block the view. He watched as each one of these people were lead up to John's room for sex. Afterwards they would had over wads of cash to John. Putting the pieces together Mycroft realized that John was a male prostitute. The worst part about it was that Mycroft sat at his desk for a moment as he contemplated that his little brother had fallen in love with a prostitute. He didn't know whether to feel ashamed or bewildered at this thought.

Mycroft needed to see this John Watson in person, and he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

A meeting was arranged. By arranged it meant that Mycroft was going to John's flat uninvited, of course he was the British Government he could do what ever he wanted.

As the slim black car with darken windows pulled up to John's flat, Mycroft readied himself for this meeting. It could go either way; Mycroft could want to destroy this man for hurting his brother or beg him to fix his brother. Umbrella in hand, Mycroft stepped out of the car and walked towards the entrance. He pushed though the door in order to search for the flat which belonged to John. Flat 5, he was here. Mycroft rapped his knuckles three times quickly on the door. There was shuffling to he heard as John inside made his way to the door.

As John wrenched open the door he was greeted by a posh man in a well tailored suit, clutching a umbrella as if ready to use it as a weapon.

"Hello Dr. Watson. My name is Mycroft Holmes, may I come in please?"

"Hold on. Holmes as in relation to Sherlock Holmes?" directly asked John. As he began to worry that something had happened to the curly haired detective.

"Yes, I am his brother. I need to speak to you. I'd much rather we talk inside than though a door way" hissed Mycroft. John let him in, not bothering to ask if he wanted tea or coffee.

"It's to do with Sherlock, isn't it? What's happened? Is he okay?" demanded John frantically.

"To be quite honest Mr. Watson you don't really have a right to know if Sherlock is okay, seeing as you are the cause of his problems" barked Mycroft while trying to look intimidating to the other man.

"What the hell are you talking about?" John was beginning to get angry now, why would this man just tell him is Sherlock was alright or not?

"My brother is a crushed man because of you Dr. Watson. All because you have broken his heart. It doesn't do emotions well and you have tipped him over the edge. His landlady says he wont move, wont eat and certainly doesn't sleep because of one thing; you" exclaimed Mycroft brandishing his umbrella round in front of John.

John stared at Mycroft dumbfounded. He never realised the true extent of what Sherlock felt about him. It always assumed it was one-sided, mostly.

"I suggest you fix this or leave Sherlock for good" implored Mycroft pleaded with his eyes towards John.

Mentally tossing up the pros and cons in his head, John finally came to his decision. He grabbed his coat, barged past Mycroft and ran in the direction of Sherlock's flat.

"Please God don't let Sherlock mess this up" whispered Mycroft in the now empty flat.

* * *

**Here is your next instalment. Hope you guys like it! Once again feel free to comment, review, etc. If I have missed any mistakes, I apologise! **

**I love reading everything you guys have to say. ThePandoricaWillOpen your comments have been entertaining to say the least! :)  
**

**Thank you for such a great response to this story. Have a good day :) **


	9. Chapter 9

Bounding though the streets John had never ran as fast in life, he couldn't even feel the pain in his leg any more The task at hand was distracting him. Rushing past people not caring what they were shouting at him, John sprinted towards Baker Street. It was the adrenaline that carried him those last few streets. He came to dead halt in front of the black shiny 221 Baker Street door.

Should he knock? Knocking is too time consuming. John twisted the brass handle to enter the building, he slammed the door behind him as he quickly jogged up those seventeen steps to the 221b. Bursting though the wooden door he found Sherlock hunched over, left sleeve pulled up with a brown belt wrapped around the top of his arm. Needle just about to puncture the vein. John rushed forward, pulling the needle from Sherlock's slim fingers. Sherlock didn't even put up a fight. John emptied the contents of the vital down the sink. He slowly turned to face Sherlock. God the man was a mess. He was dirty, unshaven and looked even skinnier. John felt a rip of guilt go straight through him.

"You promised me that you wouldn't ever do something like this again" murmured John, carefully approaching Sherlock who was still crumbled on the floor.

Sherlock simply grunted in response.

Deciding that this man needed to be taken care of and cleaned before declarations of love could be made, John hauled Sherlock up from the floor. He carried him to the bathroom and set him down on top of the closed toilet. John proceeded to turn the bath taps on creating both the right amount of warm in the water. He added a small drop of bubble liquid, while being watched by a still silent Sherlock. John then striped the other man with no objections. He then cradled Sherlock as he picked him up to place him in the bath. Sherlock just lay there spaced out. John cleaned the dirty from his body. He mentally winced every time he ran the flannel over the extreme bony parts of Sherlock's body as he knew he was to blame for this. He shaved the unkempt beard with military precision that Sherlock had grown out of laziness. Sherlock sat as John shampooed and conditioned his curly dark hair. Washing the remainder of the bubbles from Sherlock's hair, John pulled from him from the bath to dry him off. Realising that he hadn't a towel with him, John left Sherlock in the bathroom in search of one. Sherlock took this moment to look at himself in the mirror and quickly brush his teeth. Normality was quickly returning to Sherlock's body. He had no idea what had happened. It was like he was trapped in his mind almost like a type of cataplexy. John returned swiftly to wrap the material around Sherlock's body.

"Thank you, John" muttered Sherlock, avoiding eye contact with John.

John lead him into Sherlock's bedroom to sit him down on the bed. He then looked though Sherlock's drawers looking for clothes. He pulled out what looked like nightwear and helped the detective dress.

"You stay here and I'll get you some food" whispered John. Sherlock nodded as a response. As John left in search of food, Sherlock crawled under his covers and let his eyes drift close.

John returned that Sherlock had fallen asleep. The man was psychically shattered and exhausted. John took this quietness as a chance to plan what he was going to say to Sherlock when he woke up. Both men obviously had a lot to talk about with each other. John sat on the edge of the bed as he watched over Sherlock sleeping peaceful letting himself daydream.

* * *

Sherlock shifted under the covers, stretching out his long legs and arms. John gazed at Sherlock as he slowly started coming around from his nap. Sherlock glanced round the room trying to remember how he got there. His eyes settled on John.

"I guess we need to talk?" mumbled Sherlock. Sherlock could be so difficult at times, John gently smiled at this thought.

"We don't have to right now" John replied.

"I'd rather we do it now so you don't feel compelled to stay here" voiced Sherlock.

That stupid man! Once again Sherlock was totally wrong, John wasn't going to leave him without being told to.

"Sherlock I think it's obvious that we need each other in some twisted kind of way" stated John directly. Sherlock couldn't argue, John was completely right.

Sherlock wasn't one to give into emotions but in this situation maybe he could.

"John may I kiss you?" whispered Sherlock shyly.

John nodded just as Sherlock pulled himself up from the bed to step towards John. John rose and stood up straight to face the other man. John took Sherlock's face between his hands, rubbing the tips of his fingers across Sherlock's hair line. John leaned forward to brush his lips across Sherlock's. The small kiss was electrifying. Deepening the kiss Sherlock pushed as much of his body as he could against John moaning as John entwined his fingers in his curls. John dragged Sherlock back to bed tugging the covers back over the both of them. John cuddled Sherlock as he rubbed small circles into his back.

"John I think I may of fallen in love with you" declared Sherlock as he kissed John's neck.

"I'll be taking the rest of my ads down tomorrow, I'll have to find a prober job but I won't be a prostitute any more" replied John watching Sherlock intently.

"Good because I shan't be sharing you with anyone" chuckled Sherlock as he attacked John's neck with love bites.

"Before we go any further is there any thing else you want to tell me?" asked John hoping that there would be any more nasty surprises for the both of them in the future. Sherlock rolled over to face John.

"Well there is one thing. The first prostitute I used is now kind of obsessed with me. His name is Jim Moriarty and he will probably try and kill you" professed Sherlock to a slightly astonished John Watson.

In this moment curled up tightly with Sherlock in a warm bed nothing else mattered.

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**Two updates in one day for you lucky people. Once again if I have missed any mistakes, I'm sorry!**

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**Should I continue this story or leave it here? **

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**:)**


	10. Chapter 10

That night they didn't make love, instead Sherlock clung onto John afraid that if he loosened his grip he would lose him again. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock never letting go of this wonderful man. Not a single word was said; it didn't need to be. Both men were tightly pressed against each other as they drifted into a deep sleep.

It was a loud tapping on the wooden floor that jogged the two men out of their sleep. Their eye lids fluttered open to see Mycroft standing at the foot of the bed, using his umbrella as an alarm. Sherlock groaned as he sat up, reaching behind him for a pillow to throw at his brother. Mycroft stepped aside as the pillow flew past him earning a chuckle out of John.

"What do you want Mycroft?" hissed Sherlock, wanting his brother to be gone so he could have his way with John.

"It's John I'm here to see, not you," Mycroft casually replied, gesturing for John to follow him out of the room.

John leaned over to Sherlock to place a gentle kiss onto his temple as he squeezed his hand. He then tugged the rest of the bed covers off of himself to follow Mycroft out of the room. Mycroft came to a halt in the living room, he turned to face John.

"My little brother, despite the front he puts up, is a damaged person. He needs stability in his life, John. I truly hope you can be the one to give it to him. I may occupy a minor position in government but I do everything in my power to make your life hell if you hurt Sherlock," remarked Mycroft pointing a finger towards John.

John held his hands in surrender before replying, trying not to giggle that the British Government was threaten him, "You have my word I won't hurt him. One question though; who is Jim Moriarty?" asked John, hoping that Mycroft would be the source of information.

Mycroft physically cringed at that man's name. What had this man done that had been so bad?

"That is a subject for another day. Good day to you John" Mycroft and his umbrella smoothly stepped out of the flat leaving Sherlock and John to their own business.

John dismissed Mycroft's reaction to Jim's name in favor of jumping back into bed with Sherlock.

He made his way back into the room, seeing Sherlock hiding under the covers, fidgeting. John pounced onto Sherlock's figure, trapping the man between the bed and John's body. Sherlock squealed in excitement like a child as John grabbed at his sides tickling him. He craned his neck in an attempt to push away from John. John took this as a welcome to latch onto Sherlock's neck, sucking love bites on to the pale flesh. Sherlock vibrated beneath him, both men found the others lips hastily. The deepening kiss was all teeth and tongues. Heat was beginning to build as Sherlock pushed himself against John, rubbing his bulge against the other man. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, he wanted to truly make this man come undone. Pulling apart their remaining clothing, both rutted against each other trying to find that much needed friction. John lovingly brushed the curls from Sherlock's eyes so that he could see him better.

As they locked eyes John slipped his hand into the band of Sherlock's eyes widened as a response as John began to stroke him. Sherlock could feel himself getting hotter and more desperate. Each moan was a strangled effort not to scream out in pleasure. Tugging the rest of the bottom half of clothing down, John had full access to Sherlock. John watched intently as each stroke caused Sherlock to grip the bed sheets harder and harder until his knuckles turned pale white. John had never seen a more beautiful person in his life than this man in front of him now.

"Jawnnn, I've never done this before," gasped Sherlock desperately trying to hold on to reality as wave after wave of pleasure hit him.

John paused his action for a moment to stare at Sherlock.

"Never?" asked John for clarification as Sherlock shifted slightly feeling some what uncomfortable and exposed.

"My body was just transport, until I met you," replied Sherlock

"Do you want to carry on?" John asked carefully not wanting to pressure the other man.

Sherlock's response was to thrust his hips up in the direction of John. Chuckling he continued his action as Sherlock was once again reduced to a quivering mess on the bed. Soon Sherlock felt himself falling over an imagined edge of pleasure, everything was so bright and wonderful. All source of blood traveled away from his brain and down his body, as he came over John's hand and his body. He couldn't move, just laying there waiting for reality to come to him. Breathing in deeply he registered external physical contact. John was cleaning him up. After throwing the soiled tissues in the bin, John crawled up the bed to be with Sherlock. His own arousal didn't matter at this point he just wanted to hold Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around the curly haired man as he pressed kisses into his neck over the marks he had all ready left on him. Once Sherlock had come back down to earth he wrapped himself around John, shifting into a position where both were comfortable. John patted his hair down as he whispered into Sherlock's ear.

"Get some rest love" murmured John.

That singular word hit Sherlock. 'Love'. Just hearing John say that to him made something so weird inside of him and for once he was just fine with that.

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**Here is the next update for you guys, sorry for the long wait. Special thank you to sethrox9730 for being beta for this chapter. **

**Hope you guys enjoy this, feel free to comment and review. :) **

**Happy Holidays. :-) **


	11. Chapter 11

**Warnings: Just a tad on the explicit side...**

* * *

The detective awoke much earlier than the other man; he untangled himself from John's iron grip and plodded towards the kitchen in search of tea. A low soft buzz could be heard in the flat and it certainly wasn't Sherlock phone. Sherlock searched for the device making the noise. He traced the sound back to the bedroom. It was John's phone, more importantly his work phone. Sherlock looked at the offending object with hate. Without thinking he snatched the phone and left the room. John awoke around 2 hours later to the smell of something foul. As he entered the kitchen he watched as Sherlock held a melted burnt object over his Bunsen burner.

"Is that my phone?"

"Obviously."

Sherlock had reduced the phone to a complete mess; it didn't look like a phone any more.

"Why?"

"Because John Watson you are mine. Simple" replied Sherlock as he threw the blackened plastic into the sink.

John smiled as he moved to make Sherlock and himself some tea. As the kettle boiled Sherlock snaked himself around John, pressing small kisses into his neck. He took advantage of John's position as he reached up into the cupboard.

"So when are you moving in?" asked Sherlock.

John dropped the cup breaking it into several large pieces. He backed away from Sherlock, muttering 'sorry' as he bent down to picked the shards up from the floor. Sherlock eyed him suspiciously, waiting for an explanation of John's strange behaviour. John stopped eye contact as Sherlock observed him. Heat rose in John as his cheeks turned a shade of pink and the tips of his ears turned red.

"What's wrong John?" questioned Sherlock, attempting to get John to at least look at him.

"Nothing, I just assumed we would take things slow before moving in with each other" answered John.

"You don't want to move in?" asked Sherlock for clarification.

"It's not that. I would love too it's just that I have a few things to sort out first" replied John, reaching for Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock nodded understandingly as he embraced John in a cuddle. It was John who continued what Sherlock had started. John kissed along Sherlock's jaw line as he made his way to Sherlock's ear. He began to nibble on the ear lobe as Sherlock shivered with excitement. The click of the kettle made John stop. He placed the rest of the broken cup in the bin and proceeded to make the delicious tea.

Sherlock left the room to flop onto the sofa, taking up much of the space. John entered the room with two steaming cups of tea, placing them on the coffee table. John pulled Sherlock's legs up, and as John sat down as he replaced Sherlock's legs over him.

"We can go pick up a few of my things today if you like?" enquired John.

Sherlock's mood perked up, he became an over excited child. He jumped from his position into John's lap, hugging his partner.

"I take that as a yes?" joked John as he kissed Sherlock. Sherlock grinned at John, he couldn't remember the last time in his life he ever felt this happy with another person.

* * *

They leisurely strolled towards John's flat hand in hand. There was no conversation between them, but nothing needed to be said. They were both happily content with how their relationship had flourished.

Opening the door to his flat, he felt like he hadn't been there for a while now. To be honest it just didn't feel like home anymore. The only memories he had of this place was when he was 'working'. He almost felt sick to be in here, he wanted to leave that part of his life behind him and move on with Sherlock. They both deserved happiness. John found some old boxes in the cupboard and began to pack important things. Although he had limited personal belongings it took a while longer than expected. He left Sherlock to help pack things in his room. He had just put his favourite mug into the box when he heard a loud clatter of objects in his room. He rolled his eyes at the thought of what Sherlock had done now.

Upon entering the room he saw a flushed guilty looking Sherlock standing in front of brightly coloured objects that had fallen from the cupboard. John realised what had happened. Sherlock had pulled the box of dildos John used for 'work' when the box came open causing them to fall on the floor.

John couldn't help but laugh. Sherlock was stood there like a child waiting to be punished for doing something wrong. John cried tears of laughter at the situation in front of him. Sherlock still stood in the room embarrassed. John took Sherlock's face in between his hands and kissed his forehead. Sherlock gently smiled.

"Have you used all of these?" muttered Sherlock.

Talk about his 'work' was definitely going to be a little awkward.

"Well these ones are all mine. I don't use them on anyone else" answered John.

"But there's so many" commented Sherlock staring dumbfounded at them.

"Sherlock have you seen one of these before?" pried John.

"Obviously. Online" replied Sherlock looking away towards the sex toys.

A amusing idea crept into John's head, a cheeky grin followed as John whispered into Sherlock's ear.

"How about we use one? You can pick the one you like. Don't worry they have all been thoroughly cleaned" John whispered confidently as he held onto Sherlock's side.

John made eye contact with his lover. Sherlock's eyes had dilated, his breathing was fast and his throbbing pulse was visible in his neck as John raked his eyes over him.

Sherlock inspected the range of toys John had to offer. He couldn't decide. Seeing Sherlock had only lost his virginity only a day ago it was all too over-whelming. He pushed away the larger toys and settled on a neon pink toy of average size. Sherlock picked up the toy feeling the weight of it. He then handed it to John, uncertain of what to do next.

John pushed Sherlock back onto the bed, pulled his coat from his thin body while kissing him tenderly. John tried his best not to break the buttons on Sherlock's shirt as he pulled them undone. With the shirt undone, Sherlock shrugged it off. John peppered his chest with small kisses, stopping at his nipples to give an experimental lick. He loved with way he could make Sherlock moan with small but effective touches. John was also glad that he was the only person to ever do this for Sherlock, he felt honoured in a way that his Sherlock was untouched and unclaimed.

John moved further down Sherlock's body, stopping at his trousers. Sherlock gave a needy moan as John stopped his advances to look at the beautiful body beneath him. John silenced him with a single kiss on his cupid bow began to smoothly unbutton Sherlock's trousers. He pulled them down the other man legs too slowly, in Sherlock's opinion. John was torturing Sherlock, leaving him guessing at what was going to happen next. John watched as pre-come soaked through Sherlock's boxers where his erection had been straining for release. The final layer was soon pulled down as John let Sherlock's penis escape its confinements.

Sherlock groaned with pleasure as John lightly suckled on the tip of his penis focusing on the nerve endings. But John stopped before Sherlock could lose himself in the pleasure. John reached over to the bedside table in search of the bottle of lube. He warmed the liquid with his hands as he flipped Sherlock over. Sherlock raised his backside in the air towards John.

John had to control himself; this was about Sherlock's pleasure not his. He ever so gently pushed one finger inside of Sherlock to stretch him out. Sherlock soon begged for more, so John followed his orders by replacing one finger with two fingers inside of Sherlock, then three fingers. John pulled his fingers out of Sherlock. Picking up the bottle once again he applied a liberal amount to the dildo, smothering the entire shaft. He angled the toy at the entrance of Sherlock's arse. He pushed the toy inside of Sherlock carefully not wanting to hurt him. He let Sherlock adjust to the sensation slowly.

Sherlock moaned wantonly as he pushed back on the toy. John pulled the toy almost completely out only to push it back it again, hitting that desired spot inside Sherlock that he didn't even know existed until he met John. John pushed the toy in a far as it would go and let it rest for a moment against Sherlock's prostate. He was about to drive Sherlock insane with pleasure. Twisting the end the toy began to vibrate in Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn't comprehend what was happening. He was being hit with wave after wave of pleasure. His mind had shut down and his thought couldn't focus on anything but the sensation inside of him. It was too much.

His orgasm hit him hard, forcing the air out of his lungs and he held on tightly to the bed sheets. He chanted John's name as he came over his bed sheets. Milking everything Sherlock had to give; John finally pulled the toy out of Sherlock. John shuffled up the bed to hold Sherlock as he floated on post sex bliss.

"How long till you can resume packing?" chuckled John as Sherlock breathed heavily.

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**Betaed by the wonderful SuperCreepyLlama :) **

**Feel free to comment and review. Thank you for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everybody! Sorry for the late update it's been manic here! Exams, coursework and my laptop keyboard doesn't work anymore, typing on a on-screen keyboard is the worst. **

**Anyway, here is chapter 12. Sorry it's only a short one. **

**Beated by the marvelous sethrox9730 :) **

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Moving in with Sherlock was strange to say the least. Severed fingers and animal parts constantly turned up in the kitchen, often in hidden places that John didn't know existed until a horrid smell appeared in the area. With the latest experiment carefully thrown in the bin and the surrounding area bleached to an inch of it's life, John began to prepare dinner for Sherlock and him.

Sherlock hadn't eaten for days; a demanding case taking his attention. John insisted that Sherlock eat something, whenever Sherlock refused the threat of no sex loomed over the flat. That was enough to persuade Sherlock into eating. The smell of frying meat lured Sherlock into the kitchen as he observed John cooking his meal silently. Soundlessly Sherlock crept up behind John in order to place his arms around his lover. John leaned into the touch while continuing to cook. Sherlock lightly kissed John's neck, trying to distract the older man.

"Sherlock, do you mind?" joked John as he poured water into a pan.

"Bored, John. Entertain me," replied Sherlock, continuing his assault on John's neck.

"I'm trying to cook here," answered John.

Sherlock tightened himself further around John's body. John couldn't dislodge him, the detective was far too similar to an overgrown clingy toddler. But still managed to make John smile at his actions.

Dinner was soon served despite Sherlock hanging onto John as he moved around the kitchen. John dumped Sherlock onto his chair at the table. John took the seat opposite. Both men started to eat in a comfortable silence, the television the only background sound.

"Um Sherlock, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.." uttered John pushing the remainder of food around on his plate.

"Elaborate further John, something is obviously bothering you," Sherlock observed John closely, watching for changing in his body language.

"Well I was think about taking the job down the local doctors surgery," responded John.

Sherlock dropped his fork, letting it hit the plate in surprise. Why would John want a job? Sherlock had no problem with the rent. Surely John didn't want to get away from Sherlock, did he?

"No. Utterly unnecessary," replied Sherlock in his monotone voice that suggest there would be no further discussion on the matter.

"Totally necessary. The extra money wouldn't do any harm seeing as you are insistent on destroying the flat, and also I wouldn't mind earning my own money so I'm not totally reliant on you," retorted John as he tried to keep his voice calm.

Sherlock's mind flew into overreaction as he tried to think of as many reasons why John couldn't get a job, he was clutching at straws here; an employed John really did make sense but Sherlock was too selfish to share him.

"Earning your own money would make it is easier for you to leave me!" snapped Sherlock

"You are being totally ridiculous right now."

"What are you going to put on your CV? When they ask what you have been doing since you got back from the army, are you going to tell them you have been sucking dick for money?!" remarked Sherlock as a knee-jerk reaction.

The room went silent.

Fuck. He hadn't meant to say that last part only think it. John physically recoiled, Sherlock has never seen him look so hurt by Sherlock's words. Of course Sherlock had called him an idiot before but he had made up for by confessing that John was his conductor of light. Sherlock didn't know how he was going to get out of this one.

"Fuck you," whimpered John.

Sherlock was frozen as he watched John retreat from the room, grab his coat and walk out the door. This was Sherlock's worst nightmare: John walking out on him.

He needed to fix this now.


	13. Chapter 13

Betaed by the incredible sethrox9730! :D

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John was wandering around London aimlessly, he expected a sleek black car to pull up at any moment and kidnap him at Mycroft's orders; but nothing of the sort happened. He came to stop in a park; sitting down on a worn bench he rested his leg as he rubbed his shoulder. His thoughts soon swirled back to Sherlock. Should he have really walked out? Or should he have stayed and had a full blown argument that might have turned nasty? More importantly, did he want to go back tonight, if not ever?

At that point in time he just didn't know. Come to think of it, apart from Sherlock, John didn't have anyone else. His bank balance wouldn't cover even a cheap hotel room. He will just have to go home and face the music. As he sat there in a lucid state a man further down the pathway called his name, it wasn't enough to snap him out of his daydream. The man shuffled toward the bench.

"John?"

John came back round to reality to face the calling man.

"Hello John. You do remember me, right?" asked the man raking his eyes over John's form.

_Mike Stamford, former client. Likes having sex in the dark._

Finally his brain caught up with his mouth.

"Yes, yes of course Mike. How have you been?" rambled John, slightly stuttering, still shocked at the fact someone he had slept with for money was talking to him in public as if it was a normal occurrence.

"Not too bad still teaching, bright young things. God I hate them." Mike paused for a moment, looked awkwardly from side to side then continued, "I tried to book another '_appointment_' with you, but it seems your phone isn't in service anymore"

John inwardly sighed, did Mike really have to emphasize the word 'appointment', as if this wasn't weird enough.

"Yeah about that, I'm out the game now. Settled down in-fact. Well I say settled down, we've had a row and now I'm sat here," John explained casually.

Mike nodded at John's careful response. Then an idea popped into Mike's head.

"Why don't you stay the night around mine? Just until to sort yourself out, it won't be any bother"

John processed Mike's suggestion for a moment. It was a nice offer, definitely a lot cheaper than a hotel room. But there was that feeling of guilt deep inside John. If he took Mike up on his offer he could be fueling the fire between him and Sherlock, but then again Sherlock should be the one saying sorry, not him.

"Yeah, I'd like that thanks"

With that John was walking with Stamford back to his apartment.

* * *

Mike's sofa wasn't the most comfortable place, but it would do for the night. Mike had all ready settled down for the night leaving John to sleep. However sleep wasn't claiming him as fast as he would like. He reached into his trouser pocket, searching for his phone. After turning it on, the device lit up the room. Soon a flurry of texts and missed calls from the day appeared on his phone. Each one of them from Sherlock. There must of been about 30 texts and the same amount of missed calls jamming his voice message application. John laid there and read them all.

Each tone of text was different. In some texts Sherlock was pleading for John to come back, in others it sounded if Sherlock was the one who had a right to be angry. The last text was different to the others.

_'John there is a hole in the cooker and some unidentifiable liquid seeping from the cupboard. It would be wise if you could come home straight away and save the flat from destruction'_

As soon as John realized he was smiling at his phone, he pulled his grin into a frown. Screw Sherlock, he was going prolong going back just to make Sherlock feel bad.

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**Thank you for reading, feel free to comment, favourite or whatever! I'm also posting over at AO3 under the same name, :) **


	14. Chapter 14

**Betaed by the wonderful sethrox9730! :D**

**Sorry for the wait! But I have such a plot twist coming for you guys! **

* * *

High pitched buzzing pulled John from his sleep. Glancing down towards his phone John realised he had missed something important.

His job interview was today. _Damn it_.

He found a pen and some scrap paper and scribbled a thank you note to Mike. He grabbed his stuff and ran out the door shutting it as quietly as possible. He had just enough money to jump on the tube to Baker Street. Hopefully Sherlock would either be out or asleep so John could nip in shower and change and get off to his interview.

John stood outside Baker Street for a moment. Steadying his breathing for a moment he entered silently.

He jogged up the stairs gently, careful not to step to hard on the creaking steps. Pushing the flat door open he was greeted by the sight of Sherlock, dressed in a tight black suit, sat in his chair with the curtains closed darkening the room. The only sound in the room was Sherlock's violin as he picked the string with his slim fingers.

"Sherlock."

The detective slowly looked up, deducing where John had been. Ruffled hair, darkening bags under the eyes, wrinkled clothing...

"You were with one of your ex-clients," Sherlock stated as a matter of fact.

"Yeah and now I'm getting ready for my job interview."

John didn't bother looking at Sherlock as he left the room. That man could wait, John was running late as it was.

* * *

The job interview had gone far better than John had expected, least they hadn't laughed him out of the interview. He had totally forgot about Sherlock during the day, now was a better time than any to have a good old fashioned row. As he entered the living room he saw Sherlock still sat in the same seat as he had been in the morning. He was sat on crossed legs, with his hands together under his chin and eyes closed. He looked almost breakable.

"I said, 'could you pass me a pen,'" asked Sherlock breaking John out of his mini day dream.

"What? When?"

"About an hour ago."

"I went to see about a job at that surgery, remember the one you forbid me going too?"

"How was it?" Sherlock replied rolling his eyes, humoring John.

"Great. She's great."

"Who?"

"The job."

"She."

"It."

John was playing nasty and he knew it. He flopped onto the sofa and reached for the television remote. Sherlock flew out of his chair to mount John.

"What the hell, Sherlock?"

Sherlock latched onto John's neck, sucking hard, purpling of the skin already forming. Sherlock was claiming him, showing anyone who got near him that John belonged to someone else. Arousal spiked deep inside John, he should be annoyed at least but it felt like years since he was last near Sherlock. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock, John twisted Sherlock's body towards the sofa, hitting his back against the cushions. A moan escaped Sherlock's lips as John began to dominate him. John returned the gesture attacking Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's t-shirt was soon ripped from his body, John showed no mercy for the buttons as they broke away from the material. Grabbing at John, Sherlock effectively removed his shirt. Trousers were now being torn from each other. This was needy, hot, desperate sex. And it excited Sherlock. He needed this, they both needed this.

"My ex-client told me he tried to contact me for my services," grunted John as he rutted against Sherlock's near naked form. Sherlock mashed his lips against John's, in order to silence him.

"What about the '_she_' at the interview?" spat Sherlock through gritted teeth.

"Her name is Sarah, and yeah she was interested in me. I would of been tempted, if it hadn't been for one thing," growled John.

This was getting into dangerous territory: mixing sex with anger was never a good idea.

"What stopped you then?"

"You."

That was all the encouragement Sherlock needed. Pulling the remaining articles of clothing off, Sherlock reached down to wrap his hand around his and John's cock. Stroking earnestly as he tried to bring them off. The action was too uncoordinated, but it achieved it's aim. Both men were wriggling against each other, sweat dripping from their bodies. Sherlock came over himself, still stroking their shafts. John soon followed. Sweat and semen mixed as John let himself collapse onto of Sherlock.

As they lay there, clutched onto each other not a single word was spoken.

It seemed like angry make-up sex did work.

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**Have a great day! **

**Feel free to comment, favourite and review! :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Betaed by the superb sethrox9730! :D**

**Thank you for the reviews and favourites. **

**So guys remember that plot twist I was talking about? After hours of typing, deleting and re typing Here it is! **

**PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. **

* * *

Sherlock rose before John, with the aim of making his lover breakfast in bed. Just as he found the essentials for cooking the sound of a gentle knock of the door reached him. Placing the items down, he moved towards the door careful not to wake up John before he had served him his breakfast. On the other side of the door, Mycroft stood with a file in hand.

"What do you want?"

"Data on Jim Moriarty, thought you may like a look?" offered Mycroft as he pushed the folder into Sherlock's hands. Sherlock eagerly opened the file to view its contents.

"Do be careful Sherlock. If not for my sake, for John" pleaded Mycroft in an unorthodox way. Sherlock's head snapped up from the file as he heard Mycroft mention John's name.

Sherlock simply nodded in acknowledgement he and his brother had never been able to properly communicate how they felt, too many years of having the idea of emotions being weak drilled into them. Mycroft patted Sherlock's shoulder as he turned to leave.

Shutting the door, Sherlock became engrossed in the file, John's morning breakfast completely forgotten about.

John groggily plodded into the living room in search of his lover. He was greeted with the sight of Sherlock, pinning pieces of paper to the wall in an elegant spider-diagram.

"And all this would be?" inquired John.

"A three patch problem," replied Sherlock, holding up his arm to show John his nicotine patches. Rolling his eyes, John stepped towards Sherlock in attempt to wrap his arms around him.

Sherlock avoided the contact, muttering a simple answer of "_busy._". Huffing in an annoyed manner John proceeded to fix himself a morning coffee, leaving Sherlock to carrying on with whatever he was doing. Sherlock let the paper he was holding drop and float to the floor as he followed John into the kitchen.

"It's Moriarty, do you remember I told you that I used him before I met you? Well it seems he may be planning something. Although I'm not sure of what it is yet," stated Sherlock as he reached out to John. Leaning into the touch, he gently pressed his lips against Sherlock's to show him comfort and love.

"What ever happens, or what ever this psychopath has planned, we will get through it together," smiled John as he finished making his coffee.

Sherlock watched John go about his daily habit as he thought about the threat Moriarty posed to them. Sherlock didn't know whether he could face the idea of John being severely hurt or even killed because of Moriarty. They would just have to wait and see what Moriarty's first move was before they could properly act.

* * *

Vibration. Text message.

'Crime scene, you coming? -GL'

"John! We have a case!" shouted Sherlock as he rushed around the flat, collecting his coat and scarf. John soon followed him out of the flat in search of an available cab. Sherlock gave the address and slightly bounced in his seat in excitement. The prospect of a new case was far to spine tingling for Sherlock to stop moving, nerves high on electric of the possibility of new facts.

As they arrived Lestrade stepped toward the cab to greet them.

"Sherlock you can't just bring your friend here to a crime scene, it's not decent," commented Lestrade as he pointed to John's presence.

"This John from the Christmas party. John is actually Doctor John Watson, therefore he shall be helping me on cases from now on and if you have a problem with that I'm sure you can work out this case by yourself" snapped Sherlock.

Lestrade sighed in defeat, he needed this man. The yard's success rate was down and he couldn't risk losing his job, not with a divorce to pay for.

"Right. We have a male, aged between 35-40, found in this abandoned warehouse by a local security firm. But I warn you boys it's a tad grim in there. The man is not only naked but it looks like a sex act gone wrong. I decided to call you out here just to rule out murder" replied Lestrade as he lead the way towards the warehouse.

The whole of the set up of the body hit John all at once. Naked man, hanging upside down from a metal apparatus, leather binds attached to the wrists of the corpse and blood. So much blood. Then John observed the face of the man.

"Shit. No.. No," wheezed John as realized who the corpse was. Sherlock and Lestrade spun to face John.

"You know him?" asked Sherlock, trying not to overwhelm his partner with too many questions.

"Yeah. His name is Mike Stamford. Fuck. I only just saw him a couple of days ago."

"Ex-client?" muttered Sherlock discreetly, away from ear-shot of Lestrade.

John merely nodded, eyes transfixed on the naked limp body of a former client, hanging there like a piece of meat.

His left hand was slightly shaking from all the stress of the situation, John didn't know what to do. Sherlock's voice pulled John from his panic-stricken day dream.

"I have a theory. Moriarty, it must be. I have the file on him back at Baker Street. Please Lestrade, just give me some time to solve this," pleaded Sherlock as he reached out to physically comfort John.

Watching this loving exchange, Lestrade agreed. Not once had he seen Sherlock with anyone, he knew how self-destructive Sherlock was years ago, he wouldn't wish that on anybody. In that moment Lestrade knew he had to do as much as possible to help these two out.

"Get in then."

With that, the men were speeding towards Baker street in an instant.

One second they were driving front the crime scene and the next Sherlock was guiding John inside the flat. John was still trying to make sense of what he had seen. He had seen men die, friends taken in the heat of battle, but this was different. He hadn't been having sex with them and they hadn't been killed on neutral ground. Sherlock pushed John down onto the sofa while Greg made them a calming cup of tea. Grabbing the file, Sherlock flicked through it; throwing irrelevant pieces of paper across the room in anger.

"Do you think this could be all connected?" asked Greg as he came back into the living room with their tea.

"More than likely. Moriarty swore he would take his revenge."

"What happened?" Greg asked, shyly avoiding eye contact with both Sherlock and John.

Sherlock cleared his throat before speaking, this was going to be an awkward conversation.

"Well Jim Moriarty is a high end prostitute. I contacted him a few years ago in an extreme fit of loneliness. I refused to have sex with him. However, he become overtly attached to me. The man matches my intellect, no doubt about it. He made it sound like an attractive offer."

John was suddenly back in reality as he listened to Sherlock recalling the events, he didn't let him self interrupt as Sherlock continued.

"He practically stalked me in attempt to get me to change my mind. He tried to tempt me drugs and at one point having gotten so impatience tried to simply take what he wanted. He kidnapped me and force himself on me. It was unsuccessful, Mycroft found me just in time before anything could happen"

John was up off the sofa in an, instant back turned as he punched the wall. Hot, anger pouring through him.

"I'll kill him, fucking kill him" bawled John as his fist broke through the drywall.

Lestrade flinched back from John while Sherlock put everything down to see to his lover. He placed his hand on John's shoulder, the action had an instantly calming effect. Turning back to face Sherlock, John engulfed him in a hug, reminding himself that Sherlock was here and was safe. The room had grown silent as both the men had forgotten about Greg, who was still present in the living room as they fell into their own world. Sherlock ran his hand through John's lengthening hair as he whispered into his ear.

"You know that I love you, right?"

Nodding gently, John pulled back slightly to lightly kiss Sherlock. Greg shifted awkwardly in the chair as he waited for the men to finish. The movement caught Sherlock's attention. He gave one last light kiss to John then released him to return back to the work. John settled back down on the sofa, taking the forgotten tea to hydrate himself. Greg spoke first in order to get the case back on track.

"Anything useful from the file?"

"Nothing at all. I need to see the body again," replied Sherlock, throwing the file back down onto the table with more than necessary force.

"I'll just call Anderson to see what's happening," Lestrade excused himself from the room.

"Are you going to be up to seeing the body again?"

"Yes sure, I'll be alright. I've seen worse," commented John.

* * *

As the three of them walked into Bart's they were greeted by Anderson and his team conducting analysis of evidence that had been found at the crime scene. Sally was stood at the entrance ready to give full findings of evidence if Lestrade asked her. As eyes fell on Sherlock and John, both Anderson and Sally rolled their eyes at the consulting detective's presence, but didn't say anything.

"Sir, we found a message carved into the victim's body. The murderer must be German. 'Rache.' German for 'revenge.' He could be trying to tell us..." Anderson trailed off. But he could be on to something here.

Sherlock however didn't think this was right. He knew that Moriarty would be taking revenge in some form, but to literally spell out his intention was far to simple for a psychotic genius.

"Yes, thank you for your input," hissed John.

All eyes were suddenly on John, waiting for at least an explanation.

"It's 'Rachel' not 'Rache'. It's the name of his mother, people called her Rache for short, she died a few years ago. It was concluded that it was caused by tetanus but Mike always thought differently but could never prove it," John stated, numbly staring at the crime scene photos.

"John you are brilliant. An amazing conductor of light. Of course, the murder of Mike served only as a distraction. He want to watch me dance to his puzzles."

Sherlock's phone buzzed, pulling it from his pocket he observed the message.

_'9 Hours - Love from Jim xoxo'_

Showing the others the message, Sherlock now had a conclusive lead on the case.

"The game is on!" shouted Sherlock as he dragged John away from the lab.

* * *

Sherlock waltzed into Molly's lab startling the poor girl, John followed just behind.

"Molly, I need some old case notes from an autopsy from a women called Rachel Stamford," he lightly demanded, Sherlock stepping toward various test tubes.

"I'm not sure I can do that, Sherlock," Molly quietly replied, her voice tinged with shyness.

"Oh Molly, your hair looks nice parted that way," lied Sherlock, gently grinning to cover the devious attempt to get Molly to submit to his demands.

Molly turned slightly away from the men. She nodded once, as she left the room to gather the notes for Sherlock.

"You really shouldn't to that to her," stated John, ready to shout at Sherlock if required. Sherlock simply stared at John as if he was speaking in another language. John was going to have to explain social etiquette to Sherlock.

"Playing with people's feelings just to get what you want is plain cruel," grumbled John.

Sherlock instantly felt bad, not for what he done to Molly but for annoying John, he had already had a trying day with the death of a friend. Sherlock didn't want to cause him anymore pain.

As Molly returned clutching various files the creak of the opening door was the only sound with in the lab. Sherlock moved fast to take the files off of her in eagerness. Sherlock pulled the postmortem photos from the file, observing the body of Rachel Stamford.

Sherlock gestured for John to look at the photos, as he needed his medical opinion.

"The cut on her hand it's deep. Would have bled a lot right?"

"Yeah," John answered quickly, slightly uneasy that he was viewing photos of a friend's dead mother.

"But the wound's clean. Very clean and fresh. How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?"

"Ooh, eight to ten days. The cut was made later," divulged John remembering his medical knowledge.

"Look here cat claw marks.."

"Yeah, I remember Mike saying she had bought a new cat a few weeks before her death, bound to be a bit jumpy around her, a claw mark is almost inevitable."

"Anything else?"

"She had live in carer, if that helps?"

Sherlock pulled out his phone and began to put in a favor to the home office. After a few moments of texting Sherlock had his answer.

"This was revenge."

"Who wanted revenge?" asked John, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Maria, the live in carer. Rachel Stamford had written her into her will, but a few weeks later later they had an argument and Rachel threatened to take her out the will"

"Wait, wait. What about the tetanus and the claw marks?" counter-acted John.

"The cat doesn't come into it."

"So how did the carer kill her?"

"Botox injection. It's a diluted form of botulinum, among other things. Maria was also employed to give her regular facial injections. I was owed a favor at the Home Office my contact gave me Maria's internet records of purchases, she has been bulk ordering Botox for months. And then upped the dose when her plan was in danger of failing."

"Brilliant, absolutely marvelous. How does this link with Mike's death?" questioned John.

"It doesn't. I suspect Moriarty had Mike killed to highlight this other crime. A kind of like a good Samaritan," replied Sherlock, closing the file on the case. John didn't like the use of the words 'good Samaritan'. Moriarty had taken a life in order to create a puzzle for Sherlock and he didn't like this one bit. Sherlock efficiently arranged a meeting with Lestrade to discuss his findings. Without even a goodbye to Molly, they were on their way to Scotland Yard.

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**Please review and favorite! **


	16. Chapter 16

**A.N: Hello people! I have not forgotten you, even though it has been a month since my last update. Tip for you all: Don't take A-Level RE, DT, History or Psychology if you want a social life. It's exam hell at the moment. Who knew that the words 'student finance' could strike so much fear into everyone. **

**But back to the story now. We are nearing the end for Sherlock and John. I hope you guys have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. **

**Betaed by the exceptional sethrox973. Feel free to comment and favourite! **

* * *

Striding into Scotland Yard, John took note of the silence that followed them as working officers quietened down to see what was happening. John took a seat outside of Lestrade's office, while Sherlock debriefed him on the situation. Freshly printed images of Mike's body greeted John in the Scotland Yard office. Surrounding the images were inked commentary, stating facts and data. That's all that Mike was now, data. A puzzle that had been quickly solved by Sherlock.

The officers once again busied themselves with work. John couldn't help but get that feeling of being watched. Risking a glance upwards his eyes fell on both Anderson and Sally watching him intently. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, waiting for them to stop staring at him. The shuffling of feet made him look up. Both Sally and Anderson were standing in front of him, watching him as if he were some endangered animal.

"Hey your that guy from the Christmas party right? Sherlock's friend?" quizzed Sally.

"Yeah that's me. And if I remember correctly, I think I told you both to fuck off that night?" replied John, arms crossed defensively.

Anderson stepped back from the situation before it got heated as Sally made her opinion known with a slightly raised voiced.

"Just remember we told he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored."

"I'll bear that in mind," seethed John.

The opening of the office door caused Sally to retreat back to her desk. Sherlock and Lestrade emerged. You could have cut the tension between John and Sally with a knife. Deductions were not needed here, Sherlock knew Sally was causing trouble. Why couldn't she just leave them alone for once?

"Come along John," ordered Sherlock as he shoved past Sally, knocking into her into Anderson. John followed as always. Hailing a taxi quickly Sherlock opened the car door for John. Once inside the car, Sherlock held John's hand just a little to tightly to physically reinforce the fact that Sherlock would always be there for him. They traveled in silence, the hum of the traffic and the driver's radio was the only surrounding noise. John let himself relax into the seat, still worn out from the events of today. So much had happened and it wasn't over yet. Soon the recognizable scenery of Baker Street emerged from the congested streets. Sherlock paid the driver as John pulled himself from the car.

Tea was just what John needed right now. A hot steaming cup of tea and a little bit of rest. Pushing the door open and advancing up the stairs, John instantly found the kettle. Sherlock rapidly followed his partner.

"John, I just wanted to say sorry," stammered Sherlock, staring at the steam rising from the kettle.

"Sorry for?" queried John, raising his hands towards Sherlock's pale cheekbones.

"This. Moriarty. The death of your friend. This is my fault and I need to fix this for you and for us."

John sighed, he wanted to tell Sherlock that he was wrong and that it was all Moriarty's fault but he just couldn't get the words out. He settled for embracing Sherlock, arms wrapped tightly around the other man's body. John kissed Sherlock's neck, working up to the jaw inch by inch. Sherlock pushed himself against John, trying to cover his body, almost trying to dominate. The kisses became more and more heated, hands flew with wild excitement of each others bodies. Clothes were tugged to the point of near unbuttoning. The steaming kettle was forgotten about as Sherlock released his hold of John, to push the newspapers and the rest of the junk from the table on to the floor. Spinning back around Sherlock quickly continued to attack John's mouth with his. He inched John back as he pushed his body over the table. The angle was awkward but it felt so right in the heat of the moment. John opened his legs instinctively as Sherlock wedged between in order to create a better position. Sherlock forcibly yanked the buttons of John's shirt apart, in a fantastic eager move. He marveled at the expanse of skin in front of him.

Wide-eyed, heavy breathing and racing pulse only served to make John grow hotter as he watched Sherlock become animistic, claiming him as well as showing how much he wanted and loved John. Sherlock descended down John's body, stopping just as the band of the waistline. Nimble fingers carefully pulled the zipper of his trousers down. Running his hands firmly down the sides of John's legs, Sherlock proceeded to lightly pull the material towards the floor. Only simple boxer briefs remained, erection strongly outlined, jutting out from the clothing. Sherlock came eye level to it, grinning as if it was his prize. Sherlock nuzzled his nose against the material, taking in the smell of John. John's breath hitched in anticipation. Shifting forward, Sherlock mouthed into John's erection, '_I love you_', it was mumbled but John could still hear it. It send a shiver down his spine. Sherlock grabbed at the pants, the cold air hit John's erection, it was soon warmed by Sherlock's mouth as he sucked greedily. Every thought left John's head in that moment. The sensation of pleasure was too overwhelming, he could feel his legs about to give way. Sherlock pulled off with an obscene 'pop' noise. Sherlock pulled himself back up, kissing John, letting the other man taste himself. Running his hands through John's hair, Sherlock asked for permission.

"John, please let me take you."

John nodded. Sherlock disentangled himself from John to quickly find some supplies as John kicked the rest of his clothing off. He bent himself over the table, almost presenting himself on Sherlock's return. Sherlock almost dropped the supplies on seeing John. God, he loved his man. Sherlock warmed the lube in his hands, John spread his legs. Sherlock carefully pushed one digit into John. Slowly sliding in and out, relaxing the muscle. Applying more lubricant, he pushed two digits in, stretching John some more. Face down on the table, John moaned incoherently as Sherlock nudged that spot deep inside him with his slim fingers. Three digits were soon thrust into him, the pleasure was blinding. Sherlock pulled out, foil ripped open as he covered his own erection with the rubber, he carefully smothered himself with more lubrication, then positioned himself at John's entrance. Slowly inching in he tried to not lose control. Once he was fully inside, he paused for a moment to let John adjust. John rocked back onto Sherlock, this was all the encouragement he needed. Sherlock plunged into John continuously, moaning and grunting as he did so. John's erection was trapped between himself and the edge of the table, it was leaking every time Sherlock pushed into him. Sherlock built up pace, thrusting wildly until he could feel himself reaching the edge of oblivion of pleasure.

John screamed in pleasure as Sherlock's final push sent him over the edge, his come dripping down his legs and from the table. Sherlock soon followed, coming inside of John. He gripped the table's edge, to steady himself as he gave John one last kiss. This was pure utter bliss.

"John, I'll clean up here. Get yourself to bed and I'll join you in a moment," breathed Sherlock as he took John's face between his hands. John smiled as he returned the kiss before gathering up his clothing and leaving the room.

Sherlock efficiently cleaned the ejaculation as well as throwing away the used condom. The vibration from his coat alerted him that he had a text. Moving towards his coat he pulled his phone out to view the message.

_'That was a nice show, can't wait until you get rid of the pet - Your love Jim xoxo'_


	17. Chapter 17

**A.N: Another update for you lovely people. Thank you for your comments and reviews both here and over at AO3. **

**This is the penultimate chapter, I thought I'd make you guys wait a little longer for the final chapter. But I've added a cliffhanger for you, just to annoy you! **

**Beated by sethrox9730**

* * *

The hum of the traffic filtered into John's mind, gently waking him. He was alone their bedroom. The bed was cold on Sherlock's side, not even a crease dented the sheets. John dragged his body weight from the bed, tiredness still set in his joints. Creaking as he shifted out the room he went in search of a good cup of tea and his lover.

Papers were scattered in a mess over the sitting room, pins and string were also attached to the Baker Street walls. The flat looked like it had been hit by an earthquake. At the epicenter of this shamble; Sherlock sat cross-legged, hands together in his 'thinking pose'.

"Sherlock what's all this about? You didn't come to bed last night," inquired John carefully stepping over the papers towards his partner.

"Sorry, I got carried away thinking," replied Sherlock never once refraining from this thinking pose. Leaning over him, John ran his hand through Sherlock's curls, feeling the soft stands slide across his fingers.

"Oh by the way there's been another murder," added Sherlock.

"What the fuck, why didn't you wake me?" injected John, huffing in annoyance.

"You needed your rest, plus it's all under control I'm working through the data as we speak," Sherlock responded, gathering the papers back up in order to show John.

"Which poor soul is it this time?" asked John quickly preparing himself for whatever sight Sherlock might present.

"Female, aged between 35-45, lives in London. However, no formal I.D, her DNA is being run through the database but so far no matches. The only clues from the body were hundreds of forged bank notes stuffed into her mouth and the fact she was left in the same position as Mike, naked and upside down covered in her own blood," stated Sherlock passing the photos of the crime over to John.

John eyes instantly looked at the woman's face. He knew her. Of course he did, this whole nasty business was targeted at him. John took a sharp intake of breath before starting.

"Her name is Maria Drake, married, no children and shes is about 38. She is another ex-client. She stopped visiting me when she feared her husband was on to her. He's a banker in the center of London with links around the world," recalled John, remembering every detail they had talked about during her visits. Funny how sex makes people open up about their personal lives.

John raised his hand to rub the back of his neck, he was obviously in distress. Sherlock took the photo from John so that it could comfort him.

Wrapping his arms around John, Sherlock held him close; a clear sign that Sherlock was trying to sympathize with John's situation.

Lightly swaying the man in a reassuring effort, Sherlock spoke softly into John's ear.

"I promise once I figure this out, I will do my best to keep you safe. No one will hurt you"

John pushed Sherlock's attempts at moral support back at him in a fit of irritation.

"That's all it is to you isn't it? A puzzle that needs solving, regardless of the fact that these are actual human lives, with actual families and actual feelings."

Sherlock stood back shocked at this outburst. John shouldn't be acting like this.

"Look John, I understand that you are upset, but.."

John quickly interrupted Sherlock, raising his voice more; as if he didn't have Sherlock attention as it is.

"No Sherlock, you don't understand. These people were the closest things I had to friends. It wasn't about the sex, but now some bastard is destroying that just to impress you. And from where I'm standing you are enjoying it. Every blood spatter, every trace of DNA is just like a jigsaw piece to you," ranted John, anger pulsing through his veins, heating his face.

Sherlock was speechless for a moment. John couldn't really think that could he? Sherlock pushed past John in favor of solving the case in the kitchen before he said anything he would regret.

* * *

Once John's brain caught up with his mouth, he realized he was the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. Here he had a partner who was only ever trying to protect him and yet he verbally castrated him.

"Fuck's sake. Sherlock I'm sorry. It's a pitiful excuse but these past few days have really hard, I'm sorry for what I said." expressed John, walking towards the kitchen.

Sherlock didn't bother replying, there was something more interesting in the case file.

"Sherlock are you even listening to me?" John questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What do you make of this?" gestured Sherlock pointing to the file.

It took John a moment to realise Sherlock was talking about the case again. John read the autopsy report.

_'Death: Blocked airway, oxygen was unable to enter the lungs. The brain due to lack of oxygen would've began to die within four to six minutes. Irreversible brain death occurs in as little as 10 minutes'_

"What the hell blocked her airway?" asked John, eyes glancing from the file to the photo.

"The report showed the only contents of her stomach was water as one transparent polymer ball-like form. But this data doesn't make sense" replied Sherlock showing John another photo of the blockage.

"Sherlock I think I might know.." John quickly grabbed the closest laptop, opening up the search engine he began to type.

'invisible water ball'

John clicked on the first page that appeared.

"See here, they are small balls of polymer invisible in a glass of water. She must of went to take a sip of water and swallowed one that caused her to choke"

"John once again you are brilliant"

Whipping out his phone, Sherlock made a quick call to Lestrade. The detective inspector answered on the first ring.

"Lestrade, the body is of Maria Drake, arrest Maria Drake's husband for fraud. He is using his links in the banking world to produce fake banknotes. Maria was killed by a blockage in her airway of a polymer. It's most likely to be murder"

"Thanks Sherlock. I'll let you know if anything else comes up" Lestrade rang off.

"I need to set off for work. I promised I'd put in a few shifts this week. I'll see you later around 4?" stated John, gently finishing his sentence with a delicate kiss upon Sherlock's lips.

"I love you," interjected Sherlock between the kiss. He squeezed John's hand with his, before letting him go.

* * *

Throughout the day Sherlock had been trying to piece together to the possible location of Moriarty as well as who in his network he was was using to commit these crimes. Sherlock considered warning all of John's ex-clients to be careful, but in the grand scheme of things that was more troublesome than anything. Turns out Sherlock didn't quite know the true extent of how many people had paid for John's services. There was no way he be able to track everyone of them down without risking John's reputation as well.

Sherlock stretched his muscles, he had lost track of time again. He was still missing a vital clue. he couldn't quite put his finger on what Moriarty was using to commit these crimes. His phone beeped from the other side of the room, incoming message. Three long strides was all it took for Sherlock to reach his phone, snatching the device up he quickly read the text.

'_Would you like a clue?- JM xoxo'_

That was just downright creepy. Sherlock could of swore there was nothing in the flat to alert Moriarty to what Sherlock was doing. Although the previous text message from Jim did alarm him somewhat.

_'If you must..- SH'_

_'I have the equivalent of - JM xoxo'_

Sherlock ran his eyes back and forth over the new information, his mind buzzing storing new information and making connections between old and new data.

_John Watson, Doctor, Soldier, Ex-Prostitute._

_Doctor, Soldier._

**_Soldier_**_._

The execution of the murders, the strength needed to perform such tasks. Moriarty had a soldier on his side. Just an hour of searching through national defense and security records provided Sherlock with a name.

* * *

John had one last person to see before he could escape back to baker street. John pushed himself from his seat to walk to the reception waiting area of the doctors surgery.

John viewed the remaining people in the waiting area, he quickly looked down at his chart to remind himself of the name.

"Colonel Sebastian Moran?" called John.

One man stood up from the seating area, he straightened his jacket up before pacing towards John. Both their eyes connected. There was something about this man that John couldn't quite make out. Had he seen those cold chilling eyes somewhere before?

John immediately turned, walking toward his office. He pushed the door open and held it for the Colonel. Moran remained standing as John passed him to make his way towards the desk. John was just about to ask the man how he could help him before he felt a sharp flash of pure agony wash over him. His eyes dropped and his world went black.

* * *

_'Daddy is getting bored now. How about we end this tonight? - JM xoxo'_

* * *

The message hit Sherlock's nerves, he needed John by his side before dealing with Jim. Glancing up at the clock he noted that it was hours since John's shift finished, but he wasn't back yet. Strange. Sherlock rang John's phone to check his lover's whereabouts. No answer. Sherlock tried not to panic.

Then a new text came in.

_'Daddy hates to be kept waiting. Here is a little incentive for you. Solve this next puzzle or John dies- JM xoxo'_

Three things happened at once. An image of John badly beaten was sent directly to Sherlock's laptop, Lestrade was ringing him and Sherlock collapsed knees first onto the floor, hyperventilating.

_1 missed call, Lestrade._

_2 missed calls, Lestrade._

_3 missed calls, Lestrade._

Fuck. Sherlock need to pull himself together. More importantly John needed him.

Sherlock's fingers tumbled over the screen as he tried to call Lestrade back.

"Sherlock, I'll come pick you up. I can't describe over the phone but you need to see this."

* * *

** A.N: HAHAHAHAHAH. **

**The final chapter shall be with you guys tomorrow. Feel free to comment, telling me how much you hate me. :) **


	18. Chapter 18

**A.N: Hey there. So this is where we come to the end of the story. I have had an amazing time writing this piece. Honestly I have come too know some really great people through this site. I just wanted to say I think ****every single person who has commented, liked, reviewed this story are absolutely marvelous. It's you guys that have kept me going though this story and I thank you! **

**Anyway way back to the story. This final chapter is where I take your heart, rip it out from your chest and shed it into tiny pieces while I smoother myself in your sadness. AHAHAHAHHA**

**Betaed by the tremendous sethrox973**

**Also this final chapter is dedicated to Lapus_Lazulli, for being such a welcoming and incredible person! **

**_Enjoy! ;) _**

* * *

Lestrade hadn't said anything to Sherlock, his face continued staring at the road as they flew at high speed through the streets of London towards Scotland Yard. The car skidded to a halt, both men exited the car. Sherlock followed Lestrade into the building. They came to a stop outside Lestrade's office.

"I just wanna say before you go in there, it looks bad. I have not idea how they got into the police department without anybody seeing." muttered Lestrade staring at the door, knowing the sight Sherlock was about to be faced with.

Lestrade unlock the office door. Turning the door handle slowly Sherlock stepped inside.

The room was quickly eliminated as Lestrade flicked the light switch on.

Just like the previous two bodies, there was a body hung upside down. The only difference was it was John.

Sherlock's heart all but stopped dead in his chest. Reaching for the body, he soon realized this was a set up scene. The hanging body was a wax-work of John. Someone had taken a lot of time and care crafting an identical wax face and body that chilling resembled John. Even the clothes were identical as well as the fake hair used and the coloring of the skin tone. Sherlock stood back for a moment to observe the rest of the room.

One side of the wall was covered in John's old adverts, clearly displaying John's old services. Some had found a forgotten advert and reproduced it for this purpose, the print was high quality and glossy. it look like an expensive job. The other side was covered in images of John with every single client he had ever been with. The images ranged from men to women in various compromising positions. By all means that should have been impossible.

The final facing wall behind the hanging wax body has a message written over it.

'The final problem. Who killed John Watson?' it was written in blood, a cold chill trickled down Sherlock's spine.

Sherlock took snaps of the scene using his phone. He then turned to Lestrade.

"Can you clean this up? No one can know about this" pleaded Sherlock. Lestrade simply nodded. Sherlock then sent a text.

'Come and play. Bart's Hospital roof. Case solved.-SH'

Firstly he needed to go a certain pathologist, before meeting Moriarty.

Sat near the edge of the rooftop was him, Jim Moriarty, the man he has been so scared of, sat down listening to his phone pump out the sound of the song, 'staying alive'. Sherlock took a step towards him, but didn't dare speak first.

"Well. Here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock. And our problem. The Final Problem. "Staying Alive". So boring, isn't it? It's just... staying. All my life I've been searching for distractions. And you were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you. And you know what? In the end it easy. It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary. Just like all of them. Oh well"

"Where's John?" asked Sherlock circling his enemy.

"Now now Sherly don't be boring. 'Where's John?, You better not of hurt John'. Boooorrrrriiinnnggg." replied Jim, mimicking Sherlock's accent crudely.

"Okay, answer me this. How did you get so high up in the world?" asked Sherlock, as he faced Jim straight on.

"That's the right kind of question. My profession. I fucked only the best and manipulated them for my own means. Until I built up my little empire. I trust you understood the clue I texted you?"

"Of course. Colonel Sebastian Moran, ex-soldier, psychopath and hired hit man. Recently employed by you for your own needs" Sherlock stated.

"Well done, Sherly. however you only get half a point seeing as I helped you," sniggered Moriarty.

"Now shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it."

"Do it. Do what? Yes, of course. My suicide. I worked that out too. 'Who killed John Watson?' Sherlock did when he killed himself, breaking the poor Doctor's heart and effectively ending his life." communicated Sherlock. He paused for a second then continued. "I can still stop you and rescue John"

"Oh just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort. Go on. For me," huffed Moriarty, almost as if he was becoming tired of the situation at hand.

"You're insane" quipped Sherlock, he made a quick grab at Moriarty's collar forcing him near the edge in a struggle.

"That why we were made for each other, until you turned out to be ordinary. Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't"

"John"

"Not just John. Everyone. Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump. You can have me arrested, you can torture me. You can do anything you like with me, but nothing's going to prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless—"

"Unless I kill myself and complete your story." Sherlock reluctantly released the bastard from his grip and pulled him back slightly from the edge.

"Ah yes, the typical; if I can't have you no one can love story. You gotta admit, that's sexier."

Sherlock slightly leaned over the side, peering down at the distance between the roof and the stone floor. His eyes began to water at the thought.

"Off you pop. I told you how this ends. Go on. Your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it. By the way, Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to"

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you," spat Sherlock as he came face to face with Jim in this heated verbal battle of words.

"Nah. You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels" responded Moriarty, ranking his eye's over Sherlock's form. Judging him and his personality.

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them"

"No. You're not. I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me. Thank you. Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out. Well good luck with that." Moriarty pulled away from Sherlock. The silver sleek gun shone in the moonlight, before Sherlock could stop him. Jim was dead on the rooftop. His dark blood running from his body.

Sherlock turned to face the edge again. He took a moment to look up at the sky. Although he didn't know much about the stars, he admired it. The stars twinkled brightly in contrast to the dull white moon. It seemed like a perfect night to die. He planted one foot on the edge, then the other. A figure moving caught his attention, it was John.

Grabbing his phone he rang him. John answered immediately.

"John"

"Oh fuck. Sherlock I'm so glad to hear your voice. Listen I was captured by one of Moriarty's men I think. But I managed to get out. Where are-" Sherlock interrupted him.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came" John followed Sherlock's instruction, taking a few steps back from the street.

"Where?"

"Stop there"

"Sherlock"

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

"Oh god," John's neck was trained at a 45 degree angle. His eyes transfixed on Sherlock's form.

"I— I— I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this."

"What's going on?"

"An apology."

"What?"

"I lied to you. I never loved you, I never could. I'm a sociopath. I can't love anyone. You were merely a distraction," argued Sherlock, trying to make it sound as if his voice was laced with conviction rather than hysteria.

"Why are you saying this?"

"I used you for my own purposes, I'm sorry."

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met—the first time we met—you knew all about my sister, right?"contested John. He knew this wasn't his Sherlock talking.

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could," counteracted John, trying to reason with Sherlock.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Its just a magic trick."

"No. Alright, stop it now. Your lying, I know you are."

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move," Sherlock reach out in John's direction, half in an attempt to stop him moving, the other into the connect with him.

"Alright."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" Tears streamed down Sherlock face. He couldn't lie to John.

"Do what?"

"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?" It finally clicked in John's head about Sherlock was about to do.

"Goodbye, John."

"No. Don't—"

Sherlock's coat billowed in the air as he chuck his body weight from the building. Arms and limbs waved uncontrollably through the air. It was over in seconds. Sherlock's body smashed into the stone pavement with it, John's heart.

John made a sprint for Sherlock, only to be hit by a passing biker. He hit the floor with a thud, eyes remaining on the outline of the Sherlock's coat. Everything was fussy. His eyelids dropped. And for a second time that night, everything went black.

John wasn't out for long, he clawed at the ground as he heaved himself up. He all but crawled to Sherlock's side. A crowd of people were already forming. He tried to check Sherlock for signs of life, it was no use. Someone was holding him back. His leg that once had the limp gave out on him. He hit the floor again, screaming for his Sherlock.

Sherlock was loaded onto a stretcher, as John remained in a heap on the floor. That was final, his life was shattered in that moment.

The next few weeks were a blur, he barely remembered how the days turned to nights between the drinking. Mrs. Hudson pestered John to visit the grave. He hadn't been there since the funeral. The cab journey was silent. Mrs. Hudson proceeded to wait away from the grave for John to say his final goodbye to Sherlock alone.

"Um. Hm. You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um. There were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human... human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so... there. I was so alone and I owe you so much. Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it, stop this."

John stopped talking before he lost it. Feet together he gently saluted the grave. Then dropped to his knees, to touch the headstone. He pressed a kiss to his fingers, then ran those digits over the imprint of Sherlock's name.

He gave one last look at the gravestone, before a small piece of card out of his pocket.

_John Holmes, male prostitute. _

**_Fin_**

* * *

**A.N:**

**Please feel free to tell me how much of a horrible person I am! **

**Literally that ending was so hard to write. I must of redone it about 5 times. Anyway this is the end. As for a sequel, if there is heavy demand for it I'll try and get one done for you guys. I'm working on a new story at the moment, so you guys are following me you will be able to read a new Sherlock story soon. **

**I'm also available over a Tumblr under brokehisactionman or elementary-sherlock if you want to visit and shout at me! **

**Thank you once again to every single person who has taken an interest in this story. **


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